


Professor Layton Autistic Oneshots

by last-time-travel (Panadopolis)



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Anxiety, Autism, Autism Acceptance Month 2020, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Pride Day 2020, Azran Legacy, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied Sensory Issues, LayClaire, Neurodiversity, One Shot Collection, Rumination, Social Anxiety, Stimming, Unwound Future, Unwound Future Spoilers, autistic author, autistic headcanons, autistic writer, except late because of procrastination and social anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panadopolis/pseuds/last-time-travel
Summary: A series of oneshots featuring autistic/neurodivergent headcanons, some based on my own experiences. Focuses on the Unwound Future cast for now (specifically Luke and Future Luke), but may expand to other characters/games as I go along.Spoilers (or lack thereof) are noted in the chapter summaries.--Chapter 7: In which Randall feels like a failure, and Hershel helps him see that he has strengths too - and to be proud of what makes him different.
Relationships: Claire/Hershel Layton, Hershel Bronev & Theodore Bronev, Hershel Layton & Luke Triton & Future Luke Triton, Luke Triton & Future Luke Triton, Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton, but only in one chapter - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Puzzle #001: Eye Contact (Luke & Future Luke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Somewhere in chapter 3/4 of Unwound Future.
> 
> Spoilers: No spoilers.
> 
> Summary: The two Lukes split off from Layton to look for clues in Future London. Luke then takes the opportunity to ask something of his future self...

“How do you do it?”

It was an effort just to get the words out. They’d been rushing around in Luke’s head like a carousel spinning out of control, threatening to tear him apart if he held them in one second longer. And yet, he was held back by a nagging doubt, the one that threatened to destroy him if he tried to voice those words out, to _commit_ to them.

It was an anxiety he’d faced his entire life, as ever-present a companion as his favourite teddy bear. When it got really bad, he’d shut down. He became numb and unable to speak a word at all, even to his animal friends.

But this time, he’d gotten the words out. And he immediately regretted it.

Big Luke fiddled with the brim of his hat, his mouth twitching slightly in surprise. (Or was it doubt? Or anger? Emotions were the one puzzle Luke could never figure out.)

“You’ll have to be more specific. I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, Little Luke.”

There it was again. So calm, as if asking about the weather.

How… How did he do it? Luke was fine when he was talking to the Professor (after all, _he_ didn’t care if you didn’t make eye contact, or rambled on about a favourite puzzle), but… He couldn’t understand how Big Luke could be so… so _normal._

Big Luke met his eyes, as if asking what was the matter. Luke flinched slightly, and looked away. He always had trouble with eye contact, and it felt even more weird and uncomfortable when he was looking at his future self.

Luke took a breath. “Well… it’s just that… You’re me, but – you’re not-” 

Anxiety clawed against his throat. There was so much Luke wanted to say, so many words buzzing around his head, but he just couldn’t get them out.

_How did you say so calm and composed in a casino?_

_How did you not cry out at every bright flash and loud bang?_

_How do you stay still, and keep yourself from fidgeting?_

_How do you keep your arms from flapping when you’re excited, and keep yourself from rocking when you’re nervous?_

_How do you meet my eyes, and not look away?_

“How…”

“You’re wondering how I appear so neurotypical?” Big Luke said.

Luke felt his heart flutter. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad Big Luke was able to pin down what was bothering him so quickly, or worried that he was reading him like a book. (After all, he himself had trouble figuring out what people were feeling half the time!)

Luke took a breath to steady himself. “Well… yeah. You’re _me,_ but-”

_But you don’t_ seem _autistic!_ The words hung in the air, even unspoken. Luke could feel himself clamming up - he was worried he upset Big Luke, or that he trespassed some invisible social boundary.

But Big Luke didn’t seem upset at all. He smiled and tipped his hat.

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy, but I’ve certainly got a lot of practice over the years,” he said calmly. “It’s almost like a puzzle, really, figuring out how you’re _supposed_ to act.” He chuckled softly, but then frowned and looked away. “Besides, it’s… unwise to draw attention to one’s peculiarities with the Family about.”

Luke flinched. He’d almost forgotten that Big Luke had been living in the harsh world of Future London for the last ten years. He was always so polite and refined – a perfect gentleman, just like the Professor. It didn’t match with his accounts of London being thrown into absolute chaos, and needing to be wary of the watchful eyes of the Family around every corner.

_But maybe that’s an act too, just like how he can act like he’s normal._ That had to be so exhausting. Luke had enough trouble being Luke!

And then Big Like smiled again. “Eye contact’s the easiest to mimic, I find. Just look at people’s noses instead of their eyes. People can hardly tell the difference anyway.”

“Really?” Luke said, voice betraying his doubt. It seemed such a simple solution to a problem that had plagued him his entire life. Too simple, like the obvious (and wrong) answer to a trick question. “I don’t… it can’t be that simple, can it?”

“’Every puzzle has an answer’,” Big Luke quipped. “And oftentimes that answer is far simpler than it appears. So simple, one completely overlooks it.”

The thought comforted Luke. Even if Big Luke seemed so different from him – so much more composed, and calm, and confident – he still shared his special interest in puzzles.

For once, Luke’s anxiety completely dissipated.

With a grin, Luke lifted his chin and planted his gaze on Big Luke’s nose.

His older self smiled. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

It was true that it was easier than looking at his eyes, but it still made Luke feel uncomfortable, and gave him the familiar sensation of butterflies in his stomach. After a few seconds, he glanced back down at Big Luke’s shoes.

“Don’t get discouraged,” offered Big Luke. “It’s a start.”

“You make it seem so easy,” Luke mumbled in disappointment.

“I _have_ had ten years of practice,” Big Luke responded. His mouth twitched into a grin. “Of course, it’s easier with you since you’re so small. All I can see is the brim of your hat.”

“Hey!” Luke snapped. “I told you, I’m not THAT small!”

He glared at his older self. It took him a moment that he was meeting Big Luke’s gaze – and he didn’t feel so much as a prickle of nervousness.

“There you go, you’re getting the hang of this,” said Big Luke. “Here, why don’t we go meet up with the Professor, and show him what you’ve learned? And maybe we can go get a bite to eat afterward – would you like that?”

Luke grinned. “Do I ever!”


	2. Puzzle #002: The Square Sandwich (Luke & Future Luke & Layton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Somewhere in Chapter 3/4 of Unwound Future.
> 
> **Contains major spoilers for Unwound Future.**  
>   
>  Summary: After meeting up with Layton, the party decide to stop for lunch.

“Clue-hunting sure is hard work!” Luke remarked to the professor. “I’ve worked up quite the appetite - I’m famished!”

 _You’re always hungry,_ Clive thought irritably, but said nothing. It would be a strange and not entirely appropriate remark to make to his younger self, and risked raising unnecessary questions about his eating habits he was in no mood to answer.

The professor smiled and fiddled with his hat. It was a stim shared by professor and apprentice, one that Clive had noticed almost immediately and took pains to add to his own repertoire of mannerisms.

“Why don’t we discuss our findings over a cup of tea?” the professor suggested. “And a bite to eat, of course.”

Luke’s eyes practically lit up, and he rocked on his feet in excitement.

Clive nodded in assent. It was pointless to protest, not when he was still building up their trust in him. Besides, he was getting quite peckish himself, and wouldn’t mind a rest off his feet. (He rather envied his supposed younger self’s boundless energy – Clive had always been a bit scrawny and weak, even as a child.)

Clive took the group to the restaurant in the Southern Street Arcade. He led them to one of the tables at the back, carefully considering his next move. On top of managing his façade, there was the matter of selecting something to eat.

He flipped through one of the menus laid out on the table, while Luke and the Professor did likewise. Ordinarily finding something he was willing to eat wouldn’t be a problem (after all, he was the one that masterminded every detail of Future London, right down to the lunch menus), but now he had to contend with Luke’s legendary appetite. When the boy would eat absolutely anything, picking something in line with Luke’s meal preferences was an infuriating game of chance. It would not do to order a slice of toast, only to have his younger self order calamari and a side of fish and chips. Even Bostro would notice that something was amiss, although the hulking mass might need to spend a hint coin or two.

As it so happened, the professor saved Clive from needing to take any calculated risks. “A true gentleman always lets the other members of his party order first,” he said as chef Paillard approached their table. “Now, Luke, are you ready to order?

“Sure thing!” Luke said, beaming. “I’ll have the roast beef sandwich!”

Clive took an internal sigh of relief. A sandwich. He could handle that. He wouldn’t order the _same_ sandwich, of course (that would risk seeming too similar to his younger self, and besides it would be a breach of etiquette). No matter, for several other sandwich selections were available on the menu.

“I shall have the Swiss and ham on buttered bread.” He had visited here often enough to know this particular sandwich was prepared without condiments. He had a long day ahead of him, and did not wish to deal with the… _nuisance_ of mustard or mayonnaise.

Luke glanced up. “Oh! A buttered bread sandwich! That’s one of my favourites!”

Clive added the fact to his neatly-sorted archives of Professor Layton and his apprentice in his mind. He’d always had a gift for retaining and organizing large amounts of information, a gift that proved invaluable both during his time as a reporter and for managing all the components of his plan.

The professor ordered a basic sandwich on rye bread, along with tea for the two of them (Luke politely declined).

Clive sipped at his tea, recognizing it as Earl Grey. While not his favourite beverage, he had acquired a taste for tea during his time in Lady Dove’s care. Fortunate, for Professor Layton was rather of a tea connoisseur.

Soon the sandwiches were delivered.

It took all of Clive’s self-control not to huff in exasperation. As it was, he scowled. He distinctly remembered passing on orders to the various restaurant workers in Future London that all sandwiches were to be cut horizontally, forming neat rectangles. And yet, a clean diagonal cut stared back at him from his plate. (He nearly slipped into a memory of his mother making him little rectangle sandwiches for school - the ones with jam, and with some of the pieces cut out to make them look like playing cards - but his indignation kept it at bay.)

Clive gently pried apart his sandwich at the corners, checking its contents. A single piece of white Swiss cheese, a slice of smoked ham, a sprig of arugula for garnish. Everything he expected, and no unpleasant surprises. At least the kitchen had gotten _that_ much right.

“What’s wrong, Big Luke?” Luke piped up.

Too late Clive realized his mistake. It was rare for someone to glare at a sandwich, and even then it was typically _after_ taking a bite and announcing it was disgusting.

“You’re looking quite... pensive,” said the professor. “Perhaps…?”

It was the second time the professor had inadvertently saved him that morning.

“Yes - this sandwich reminded me of a puzzle,” Clive said.

He pushed his plate toward Luke, who peered at it curiously. The only thing larger than Luke’s appetite was his love for puzzles.

“A peculiar man will only eat foods cut into rectangles,” narrated Clive. “He ordered a sandwich, but the chef cut it into triangles. However, rather than demanding the chef make a new sandwich, this man decides to cut the sandwich into rectangular pieces.

“Now, what is the fewest number of cuts he needs to make? Remember, he will only eat rectangular pieces, and doesn’t want any of the sandwich to go to waste.”

Luke immediately got to work. He started tracing in the air over Clive’s sandwich, talking under his breath. “Okay, so if you make two cuts here, that’ll make a square and two small triangles… and you can keep doing that to the smaller triangles… but then you’ll get some small triangles left over, and that won’t work… Okay, what if instead I push the two peices together into a square, then I can cut it into strips to make rectangles-” 

He suddenly bolted upright. “Wait, I’ve got it! The answer is _zero_ \- you don’t need to make any cuts at all! He can just smoosh together the two pieces he’s got and get one big square - and everyone knows squares are rectangles!”

Clive smiled. He was genuinely impressed, and surprised, at how quickly Luke had figured out the answer. He made a mental note not to underestimate the professor’s apprentice.

“Of course, it’d be awful hard to fit that piece into his mouth…” Luke noted.

Clive shrugged. “I asked what was the fewest number of cuts he would need to make. I didn’t say it was the most _practical_ number of cuts he could make.” 

Clive took a knife and made two neat cuts on his sandwich - one horizontal, one vertical - forming eight mini triangles. Pinching two of the triangles together to form a square, Clive took a bite.

“Now, I believe the _real_ puzzle here,” the professor gently interrupted, “is how such a hungry apprentice could leave his lunch unattended for so long.”

Luke just about blushed with embarrassment. “S-sorry, Professor! I got so excited about the puzzle and-”

The professor chuckled. “There’s no need to apologize, Luke. it’s good to see an apprentice with such a hearty appetite for puzzles. But all the same, I suggest stopping to eat before your sandwich gets cold.”

The professor had no need to worry. Clive was barely through his second makeshift square by the time Luke was finished.


	3. Puzzle #003: Overload (Future Luke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Chapter 3 of Unwound Future, once Future Luke leaves the party.
> 
> **Contains major spoilers for Unwound Future.**  
>   
>  Summary: What was Future Luke _really_ up to when he ditched the Professor and Luke?

_“Why don’t I split off for a bit and see if I can secure a safe route to the Towering Pagoda for us?”_

It was, of course, a lie. (Good boys weren’t supposed to tell lies.)

_“Go on and set off for Chinatown without me. Shipley can tell you how to get that far. All right?”_

But what was another lie, when you were already pretending to be someone, no, _something_ you were not, and your entire life was a façade?

_“Good. Now I need to get moving. Be careful out there.”_

On the worst days, I questioned whether I even had a true self anymore.

*

“Wow, he sure took off in a hurry.”

Luke’s voice carried out of the restaurant as I stepped back into the arcade. I quickened my pace, breath getting huffy.

Making my leave in such an abrupt manner was not a particularly wise move on my part, but at the moment I didn’t care. I needed to get away from the professor – from _everyone._

Once I turned the corner toward the east exit, I slipped into an alcove along the side. Safely out of view for the moment, I took some slow breaths.

I still had control over myself for the moment, but knew the calm wouldn’t last for much longer. And a true gentleman couldn’t have a breakdown in public.

In any event, I needed to get out of here before the professor and his apprentice arrived (before _anyone_ arrived, for that matter). Shipley should be giving them directions to Chinatown now, buying me a bit of time. I could only hope he elaborated more than strictly necessary.

Chinatown was of course out of the question. Dimitri would be well aware of Layton’s arrival by now, and in all likelihood would have set the puzzle lock on the main gate, the bastard. (Good boys weren’t supposed to swear.)

The clock shop? Spring and Cogg were used to handling my… “little moments”, as Lady Dove had delicately put it. But I shook my head. I wouldn’t make it all the way to the clock shop, not with so many _people_ along the way.

That left two other places I felt comfortable enough to handle in my present state. I didn’t trust myself to reach my little pet project unseen, which left…

I exited onto the main square of Flatstone Street, feet stomping against the cobblestones. Keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead, not daring to look anyone in the eye, I turned to the road leading along the park.

Silky was at his usual post outside the park, staring off into space in his usual bored stupor. I tilted my hat for him, signalling I wasn’t to be disturbed.

I marched up to the observatory, hands effortlessly working through the puzzle on the door while my mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.

I took a breath once I was inside, knowing I’d found a temporary sanctum. I silently counted the steps as I climbed upward, my breath following in time. One, two, three…

The tension was slowly leaving my body by the time I finally reached the observation deck. I always liked high places; they reminded me of my room in my parent’s old flat, and how I used to excitedly peer out my window at the cityscape every morning.

The first view visible to anyone climbing the observatory was to the south, toward the artificial Thames and the factories stretching across the far shore. I turned away, knowing all too well that my thoughts would inevitably dwell on a solitary lighthouse on the Thames, and lies and deceptions, and long-ago memories best left buried.

Instead I turned north, to my favourite of the observatory’s views: the peaceful little park below, just like the ones I remembered visiting as a child. A row of flats and shops were visible beyond. I could see the towering clock shop from the corner of my eye, stretching up into Future London’s ever-present haze – and farther still.

I sat with my back to one of the observatory’s pillars, just watching the world below. Waiting for my mind to be at ease.

I turned over the events of the last few hours in my head, the way I would leaf through a newspaper. The initial meeting with the professor had gone well enough, I suppose, but there had been… complications. And it was so exhausting, far more so than I anticipated – much more exhausting than dealing with the Family, or even Dimitri. I was pulling off a constant bluff, needing to read my opponents while keeping my own cards to my chest.

It was a relief to finally be alone, and drop the façade. I could temporarily shed my guise of ‘Future Luke’ I’d adopted for the professor… and the guise of the perfect gentlemen. Of the good little boy who never acted out.

At some point I started rocking. Arms wrapped around my knees, tucked tightly against my chest. It was a habit I had lost years ago, forced to bury it away from the watchful, stern eyes of my tutors, of servants, of Lady Dove. (Good boys don’t act weird. Good boys don’t rock silently in the corner.)

And yet it had returned, like an old jacket I’d found hiding in the back of my closet. It felt a bit awkward, and even uncomfortable, thanks to my lanky limbs and overgrown body. But at the same time it was soothing, as if I was still a small child snuggled in my mother’s lap while she read in her favourite rocking chair.

_Alone_. The enormity of the thought struck me. I would never sit in my mother’s lap again. I would never hear my father’s hearty laugh, or see Lady Dove’s smile. I was an unloved orphan, alone in the world.

I rocked faster now as the memories rushed back unbidden, waiting for tears that never came.

No. Soon this would be over. I knew the man – no, the _monster_ responsible for taking my parents away from me, for leaving me alone. He alone was responsible for my suffering, and he would _pay_.

I curled tighter, breath coming in quick, huffy gasps.

I tried calming myself, running through the rules of my favourite card games, or the puzzles I’d thought up as an intellectual exercise. I started focusing on my breath, steady in, steady out, just like Cogg and Spring taught me.

Otherwise I’d lose myself in the memories. They’d gotten harsher and more painful as I grew older. The scars never healed, with new ones etched by every injustice I witnessed in the world. With every year, it took longer to bring myself back from the edge, from the brink where anger fell away to madness.

One day, I might not be able to bring myself back at all.

Slowly, slowly, my breath grew calmer and steadier. My rocking slowed, until I finally settled to a standstill.

I rose to my feet, taking a moment to adjust my cap and fiddle my tie back into place. I needed to leave soon, and catch Layton and his apprentice in Chinatown. My mental state wasn’t ideal, but at least I had calmed myself enough that I wouldn’t scream at the sight of an unexpected civilian.

I could lead them back to the clock shop, at the very least. It was the next step along the garden path I’d prepared for the professor, and once the professor and his apprentice were safely back in their ‘own’ time, I would have a chance to rest in the room Spring and Cogg had made for me in their flat above the clock shop. It was the only place that felt like home to me in Future London, despite the whole city being designed by my hand.

There was certainly no such place left for me aboveground.

I took one last look at the park below, with its cobblestone paths and neatly-planted wildflowers. I was already spinning my next lies in my head, as easy as penning a newspaper headline. _“Let’s continue this conversation away from prying eyes.” … “I’ll be able to get you back in the clock shop, and you can use the wormhole to travel to your own time.” … “I’ll stay behind, to prevent further disruption to the flow of time.”_

The professor would eventually discover my fabrication, of course. It was merely a matter of how long before he toppled down my house of cards.

I wondered what he would find, once he cleared away all the lies.


	4. Puzzle #004: Letter (Hershel & Claire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Hershel’s flashback during Chapter 10 of Unwound Future.
> 
> Spoilers: Very minor spoilers for Hershel’s backstory in Unwound Future and Miracle Mask.
> 
> Summary: Two socially awkward people work up to their first kiss.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Hershel.”

Hershel fiddled with the brim of his cap. He’d been surprised, but not displeased, when Claire had caught up to him after class and asked to meet her at the park that afternoon.

He welcomed the invitation. It was rare for him to have close enough relationships with his peers to meet up outside their classes, not since Ran… since his secondary school days.

“Oh, no, it’s my pleasure.” He shuffled his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“Here. This is for you.” Claire reached into the pockets of her lab coat and drew out a small pink envelope.

“Oh? What’s this?” Hershel wondered as Claire pressed the missive into his hands.

“A letter, of course!” Claire said with a smile. “Read it once you get home.”

Hershel turned over the envelope in his hands. It was indeed a sealed letter. But why? He wondered if Claire had given him a puzzle inside (after all, she shared his fondness for puzzles). Perhaps the envelope itself, and figuring out its contents, _was_ the puzzle.

Hershel frowned in concentration. He knew Claire long enough to know that she preferred the written over spoken word, and felt terribly awkward in casual conversation. Doubtless she had something she wanted to talk to him about, and composed a letter to ensure she could properly get her thoughts in order. It was the potential contents of the letter itself that was bothering him.

Why did Claire need to meet him out here to deliver the letter? Why couldn’t she have mailed it, or even handed it off to him during their brief meeting after class? Absent-mindedly Hershel wondered if this was part of some unspoken ritual of letter-giving covered in the Big Book of Social Rules. Unfortunately it seemed he was passed over on whatever day copies were handed out to his peers.

Finally he worked up the courage to voice his thoughts. “Why wait? I’m right here, after all.”

His fingers started picking at the wax seal. It gave him an excuse to avoid Claire’s eyes; eye contact was extra difficult for him when he already had so much on his mind.

But Claire’s hands reached out and gently pried his fingers off the seal.

“Silly Hershel, you’re making things quite difficult.” Claire giggled slightly. Whether out of amusement or nervousness, Hershel wasn’t sure. He craned his neck to meet her face, and saw that she was blushing. Likely nervousness, then.

Claire took a breath. “What I wanted to say is… well…” She glanced down and fiddled with her hands. “In short… this.”

She leaned over and kissed Hershel on the cheek. A gentle peck.

Hershel blinked from shock. His cheeks went hot from embarrassment and… gratitude?

He felt a warm tingling all over his body. It was strange, but… not unpleasant. He decided that he liked this peculiar sensation, and would not be averse to experiencing it again.

He met Claire’s eyes for a moment; they shared a brief smile before they glanced away from each other. Neither of them could handle more than a few seconds of direct eye contact at the best of times. Certainly not when they were both blushing furiously.

They chuckled over their shared embarrassment.

Hershel felt something brush against his hands; without thinking, he clutched at it and was greeted by a warm touch. Hershel felt his heart beat faster; Claire’s hands were so soft and tender, and settled perfectly in his own sturdy grip.

Claire rested her head on his shoulder. Their cheeks brushed together, making Hershel flinch slightly. Normally he was uncomfortable being so close to anyone other than Ma and Pa, but with Claire he didn’t mind. Her touch felt warm and familiar.

They were lost in each other for several heartbeats. Perhaps they would have stayed like that for hours, if Hershel’s concentration wasn’t broken by a quiet but startling noise.

“What was that?” he mumbled in surprise.

Already his mind was puzzling it out, seeking a logical resolution. It had sounded like a splash; perhaps a small child was playing in the pond?

Both he and Claire glanced at the pond. All he could see were some ducks swimming by the water’s edge.

“Probably just a duck,” said Claire. “It’s nothing to worry over, Hershel.”

Hershel turned back, smiling. For once he had no problem looking into Claire’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last story I had prepared for this series, so I'm marking this as complete for now. 
> 
> I do have a few more potential ideas bouncing around, but for now I'm focusing on other projects.
> 
> I'll update if/when the muse strikes again.


	5. Puzzle #005: Relationships (Luke & Future Luke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Around Chapter 7 of Unwound Future.
> 
> Spoilers: Minor spoilers up to Chp 10 of Unwound Future.
> 
> Summary: On the way to Chinatown, Luke and Future Luke have another heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something for this series in honour of Autistic Pride Day today, so here’s a short fic combining LGBTQ+ positivity and autism acceptance.
> 
> I’m basically Future Luke here (complete with feeling immensely awkward the entire time) – someone who’s never personally had a romantic and/or sexual relationship (and doesn’t want one), but wants to be encouraging and accepting of others.

“Hey… Big Luke?”

“Hmrm?” His older self stopped, hovering by the alleyway to Chinatown.

Luke paused, carefully composing his thoughts. “Well, I was just thinking… you’re me, so you must’ve gone through all this ten years ago… so you know how things turn out, right?”

Big Luke stared into the distance. “Yes, I suppose.” He frowned slightly. “Before you ask, no, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what happens from here on out. It would be incredibly dangerous - if you had that knowledge, it could alter the course of history. And even if that were not the case, I don’t want to risk distorting the events of the past – that is, your present - any more than necessary.”

Luke forced himself to nod. (After all, Big Luke had said something similar when he stayed behind back at the clock shop.)

“Oh,” he mumbled, unable to hide his disappointment. He looked away, catching a glimpse of the statue in the plaza, and immediately felt his stomach go topsy-turvy.

Big Luke raised his eyebrows. “Is something the matter, Little Luke?”

“Well, it’s just-” Luke took a breath, unable to hold back the racing thoughts any longer. “D’you remember when Dad had to move overseas for his job?”

Big Luke paused for a moment, then nodded.

“It’d be years ago for you, but I only found out last week! And we have to move by the end of the month!” Luke took a shaky breath. “I tried to put it out of my head, but seeing this statue reminded me of that, and that I’ll have to move away from the professor - I’ll have to leave him, just like that poor little boy in the statue…” He curled his hands into fists. “I know I should be focussing on stopping the future Professor Layton, but – it’s just so stressful!”

Big Luke nodded in sympathy, then put a comforting hand on his younger self’s shoulder. 

“Yes, I do remember it being extremely upsetting - having practically my whole life uprooted, and needing to move to a new home in an unfamiliar place… it certainly wasn’t pleasant, not one little bit.” He fiddled with the brim of his hat. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that, or how it all turns out. However, you’re going to do just fine, Little Luke. After all, you’ve adjusted quite splendidly to the London of the future – if you handle suddenly appearing ten years in the future, you can handle _any_ change.”

Luke pondered for a moment. He knew his older self wanted to reassure him, but… his nagging feeling didn’t go away. He hadn’t gone into the _root_ of the problem.

“B-but I’ll have to move away from everyone! Even the professor!” The words tumbled out between rushed, huffy breaths, mimicking the frantic flapping of his hands. “My dad wants me to make more friends my age! But I – I can’t! What if my classmates don’t like me? What if they make fun of me for my accent, or talking to animals, or flapping my hands? What if they tease me for not having – not _wanting_ –” he was almost pleading now, “a – a girlfriend!!”

Big Luke blinked in shock. He remained silent for several heartbeats; Luke was afraid he had somehow offended him.

But soon his older self gave him a gentle smile. “Well, there’s no need to have a girlfriend if you don’t want to. True friends will like you for your own merits – not on whether or not you happen to have a girlfriend, or follow along with their particular social norms.”

“But I don’t _know!”_ Luke protested. “I don’t know if I want a girlfriend or not!” He stopped to catch his breath. “I got kissed by a girl once – I don’t know if I liked it… it - it made me feel all funny and weird… so I was thinking - m-maybe - what if I… I like _boys_ instead?” But then he shook his head. “But I just don’t know!”

Big Luke shrugged. “It’s okay if you don’t know. You’re only thirteen, there’s plenty of time for you to figure things out. If it helps, I’ve never settled down with a partner myself – of either sex.”

His older self clearly meant it as gentle reassurance, but it only made Luke widen his eyes and gasp in dismay.

“Does that mean I… I won’t-” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Would he never end up with anyone? Would he finally find someone he liked, only for them to reject him for not feeling the same way – or because he was autistic?

“My apologies, Little Luke, it wasn’t my intention to upset you. I’m single by choice – I’m not interested in that sort of relationship. However, there’s nothing stopping _you_ from going out and finding a girlfriend or boyfriend, if you want one. It may be a bit harder for you than others, the same as with any sort of social interaction, but that will make it all the more rewarding.

“Someone who can see past your autism – someone who sees it as just a part of who you are, same as your hair colour and love of blue – is someone that will accept and appreciate you for who you are. They’ll like you _for_ your quirks, not in spite of them. They’ll love you because you’re _you_ , no more, no less - and that’s something truly special.”

Luke slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled quietly, then beamed. “Just like the professor!”

“That’s right,” Big Luke smiled back. Then he tilted his head slightly. “In the end, only _you_ can find the answers. No one else can tell you who you like – it’s something you’ll eventually discover for yourself.”

“But I _want_ to know - I want answers!” Luke pleaded. “You’re me, so can’t you just tell me whether you - whether _I_ like girls or boys? It’s all so confusing!” 

Big Luke sighed. “Yes, I was never one to handle uncertainty myself. But when I said only you can find the answers, I _mean_ only you - not even your future self can answer that for you.

“And just to complicate things further, it’s worth noting that technically you’re not me – I was you in the past, but the choices you make from here on out may change who you are, and put you on a different path than mine. So, just because I ended up single doesn’t mean you have to – unless, of course, that’s exactly what you want.” He took a breath. “Does all that make sense?”

“Um, not really,” Luke admitted. “My head is spinning a bit from thinking of it all.”

Big Luke chuckled. “Well, that’s perfectly all right. Time travel is confusing, and so are relationships - perhaps even more so. But as I’ve said, you have plenty of time to figure things out, and whether you like girls, boys, both – or no one at all. And you can always change your mind along the way, as many times as you need to – every puzzle has an answer, but sometimes the road to that answer is long and bumpy.” He paused. “Speaking of puzzles, you can always talk to the professor about these sorts of things – he can likely explain it better than I can.”

“Really?” said Luke.

“Of course! That’s what friends do for each other – and you and the professor are very close friends, are you not?”

“Yeah!” said Luke, happily fiddling with his hat. “Thanks, Big Luke, I feel a lot better now!”

Big Luke just nodded. “I’m glad I could help sort things out for you, Little Luke.”

“Here, let’s go catch up with the others!” Luke was already running off, eager to meet back up with the professor.

Once he was gone, Big Luke took a long sigh. He was blushing slightly.

“Well, _that_ was awkward…”


	6. Puzzle #006: Adoption (Theodore & Hershel Bronev)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: A certain flashback in Azran Legacy.
> 
> **Contains major spoilers for Azran Legacy.**
> 
> Summary: He always knew his brother was different, but he loved him all the same, and would do anything for him.
> 
> Or, Hershel helps his brother on the day of the adoption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this one came to me quite suddenly while out on a walk.
> 
> Note that I headcanon Theodore to be around five years old here, and Hershel to be 3-5 years older than that.

He always knew there was something wrong with his brother.

No, not wrong (that was far too harsh a word), but… different.

He was old enough to remember when his mother brought baby Theodore home from the hospital, and likewise had witnessed his younger brother grow from an infant into a young child.

Theodore’s eyes were the first thing he noticed (small and round, just like their mother’s); most people looked at you when they talked, but Theo would always look away. Likewise for learning to talk; it took until the age of two for Theo to speak in two-word sentences, and until age four to utter his first full sentence.

Theo was hardly any older than that now. Far too young to have his parents taken away.

Mother and father had definitely been worried. Hershel had overheard them (though of course he didn’t _mean_ to, good boys weren’t supposed to eavesdrop) talking about getting Theo tested. (But tested for what? Like the test he did at school where the teachers said he was a very clever boy?)

But that was before the… the kidnapping, from when he still had a family. Now all he had was an empty house… and his precious little brother.

*

Today was a special day, when Hershel would start a new life.

(But it wouldn’t be the same Hershel… it wouldn’t be _him_.)

The family that offered to adopt them could only take one child. There was no question of who would go; Theodore was far too young to be on his own. (Of course, he was too; but he would find a way, from desperation if nothing else.)

He was helping Theodore get ready. Theo had always needed extra help, compared to the other children he knew: a little more time to warm up to others, some extra practice with words to get the pronunciation just right, someone to help out when his clumsy hands couldn’t quite figure out what they had to do.

Right now he was helping Theo finish with the packing. He wanted his brother to start life with nicely folded clothes, just like how their mother and father used to do them.

He had to be careful to get the order right, arranging the packing the same as Theo’s dresser drawers (trousers on the bottom, then the shirts, then the socks and underclothes, and pyjamas on top). Theo didn’t like it when his clothes were in the wrong order - a charitable way of saying he’d throw a fit otherwise, for reasons even Theo himself didn’t quite understand.

(Somehow he always understood his brother hadn't been acting out. He was just… it was too overwhelming for him when things weren’t organized just so, in a way his brain could understand.)

“I don’t wanta go away,” Theo piped up.

For a child who got upset if their family sat down in the wrong seats at supper, the kidnapping had been terrifying enough; of course Theo wouldn’t want to lose his brother as well.

"Please, this is for the best," he insisted. "You’ll have the Layton family to take good care of you, just like mother and father."

“But I wanta stay with you, Herchel!” (Theo had never quite mastered the difference between the ‘shel’ in Hershel’s name and the ‘chel’ in their mother’s; but he hadn’t the energy, or heart, to correct his brother.)

“Please, don’t call me that – remember, that’s _your_ name now, Hershel.” He pressed a gentle finger to his brother’s lips. "And don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay on my own. I promise.”

There was a sound of tyres on gravel.

“Oh, they’re here,” he said.

He scooped up Theo's packing, then took his brother’s hand and walked him to the front door.

An elderly couple was waiting for them on the doorstep.

It was the first time he’d seen the Laytons, the couple that volunteered to adopt one of the brothers (no, they’d wanted to adopt _him_ … the one named Hershel). They looked very much like he’d imagined grandparents would look: grey hair, wrinkled smiles, kind eyes. He decided he liked them, and trusted them.

He trusted they would take good care of his brother.

“How do you do, Mr and Mrs Layton?” he said. “This is my brother, Hershel.” He wrapped a comforting arm around his younger brother.

Theo just glanced down at his neatly-tied shoes; he never did like looking people in the eye, at least not for longer than a second or two.

“Well hello there, little Hershel!” said Mrs Layton. She reached out a head to pat Theo's hair.

Theo yelped and ducked behind him.

“He’s shy around strangers,” he explained.

“I see,” said Mr Layton, giving the brothers a gentle, understanding smile. “We’ve heard you’re a very clever boy – aren’t you, Hershel?”

Theo went wide-eyed for a moment, then nodded.

Yes, both of them were very clever. Despite needing a bit of extra help in most tasks, Theo had quickly showed an aptitude for puzzles; he could put together his favourite alphabet jigsaw with all the pieces upside-down, even before his fourth birthday!

It even became a bit of an obsession for him. Once Theo had a puzzle on his mind, he wouldn't give up until he had an answer.

(He supposed Theo's fascination with puzzles of all kinds was for the best; there was little else to do in the house but read books and trade brainteasers.)

“I know Hershel will be happy with you,” he said; partly to comfort his brother, partly to air his own concerns.

“I’m sure he will – if for no other reason than Lucille’s cooking,” rumbled Mr Layton.

“Oh, Roland, you’ll know it’ll only be because of your terrible jokes!” Mrs Layton sighed. “It’s such a shame we can’t take both of you. You’re both such lovely boys.”

He felt Theo lean against him, and grip his vest tight.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Layton,” he said quickly while he patted Theo on the shoulder. “I’ll be staying with a family in the village – with the - er-” He tried to remember the name of one of the arky-ologists his father would read about, but couldn’t. “-The Phibs!”

Mrs Layton nodded. “That’s good to hear. Even the bigger young’uns like you need looking after.” She gave him a wide but sad smile. “It was very nice to meet you, er…”

“Theodore,” he said. “And it was nice to meet you too, Mr and Mrs Layton.”

The couple nodded. "All right. Come along, little Hershel," said Mrs Layton.

But instead Theo grabbed onto his hands and wouldn’t let go, until Mrs Layton came and tugged him away.

Theo gazed back at him the whole walk to the car, looking like a wounded deer.

He watched too, even as Theo got in the car and it drove away, farther and farther away from the empty house.

“Be happy, brother,” he murmured. He held the doorframe tight, waiting for the tears to come.

This was the best for his brother. He’d grow into a great, clever man, just like father did - and the Laytons would give him the extra love and support he needed along the way.

_This is the start of your new life…_

_Your life as Hershel Layton._


	7. Puzzle #007: Friendship (Hershel & Randall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: Sometime while Hershel lived in Stansbury, before the events in the flashbacks from Miracle Mask.
> 
> Spoilers: No spoilers.
> 
> Summary: Randall is feeling down after a rough day at school, so Hershel gives his friend a little pep talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon Randall as having ADHD, and given that October is ADHD Awareness Month, I figured this was a good way to tie that into this series.
> 
> Small disclaimer that unlike with autism, I do not have ADHD (to my knowledge, anyway), so I apologize for any inaccuracies or such.

“Ugh, I hate being wrong,” Randall muttered as he slumped back into his seat.

Hershel made what he hoped was a sympathetic smile for his friend. Randall had spoken out of turn in class (again), and Mr Collins had put him on the spot with a puzzle (again) – but Randall had gotten this one wrong.

In response to Hershel, Randall shrugged his shoulders and made a sheepish grin; and yet, he did not seem happy.

Hershel frowned. Clearly Randall must be frustrated at getting the wrong answer (and no chance to try again!), so why was he trying to act so nonchalant about it?

Why couldn’t people just _say_ how they felt? It would make the world far simpler; people were already puzzling enough, and even for Hershel that was one puzzle too many.

Hershel shook his head, realizing he had gotten lost in thought, and forced his attention back on Mr Collins’s lecture.

*

Randall's sour mood seemed to persist all the way to the end of the school day, because he completely forgot about their fencing practice. (Randall admittedly forgot a lot of things, thanks to his mind buzzing around and juggling too many things at once, but never the things he was passionate about. Certainly not anything archeology- or puzzle-related, nor his latest passion for fencing.)

When Hershel made a gentle verbal reminder, Randall shook in anger.

“I’m not going,” he snapped. “I’ll just be a failure again, like with everything else.”

“Randall, that’s not true!” Hershel protested. “You always beat me at fencing!”

He meant it as reassurance – and, perhaps, making a joke at his own expense to lighten the mood.

Instead Randall turned on him, eyes blazing. “You’re missing the _point,_ Hershel! You saw how the whole class laughed at me today – I’m just a good-for-nothing screw-up!”

“Randall, calm down-” said Hershel.

“No!”

“Then at least let’s find somewhere quiet.” A true gentleman never makes a sense in public, as Pa said.

And screaming never helped anything, as Ma said.

Randall huffed, looking like he was about to throw a punch – then just as suddenly deflated.

“Fine.” And yet, Randall still did not sound happy about it.

*

It was, sorry to say, an uncomfortable silence all the way to the Memory Knoll, but the air there was just as fresh and calming as always.

Randall took several huffy breaths. Slowly his shoulders relaxed.

Hershel nodded to himself. Randall seemed to be calming down.

He took a breath. Now came the hard part; now he had to find the right words to get to the bottom of Randall’s feelings.

Finally he settled on the straightforward approach. “What’s the matter, Randall?”

“Everything,” said Randall.

Hershel shook his head. “No, that's not quite right, is it? Something in particular must be bothering you, if not even fencing practice could cheer you up.”

Randall sighed, staring off into the distance. “Well, if I had to put it down to one thing, I guess it’d be my dad.” He scowled. “Again.”

Hershel nodded, remaining silent; just like Ma did whenever he needed to vent about a rough day at school.

“Y’know that test we did the other day?”

Hershel nodded again. He found the test hard too, but had gotten a B-. (Ma and Pa knew it was lower than his usual grades, but still congratulated him anyway.)

“…I bombed it. Got a D, again. And now my dad’s after me ‘cause my grades aren’t good enough to get into business school.” Randall blew a raspberry. “Pff. Like I _want_ to grow up to be an accountant like Dad and crunch numbers all day. But of course I can’t, I’ve gotta be Dad’s perfect son.

"But the worst is that I _know_ I'm smart, but when it comes to tests - I just _can't._ I can't concentrate, not when everyone's rustling around me and the clock _ticks_. And the lectures are just so _boring_ that I zone out and all the information just flies out of my head anyway." He slumped. "No wonder I'm such a failure."

Feeling helpless, Hershel just nodded again. Sometimes he himself froze up on tests, or he couldn’t get started on homework, but... how could he help his friend? Poor Randall got so worked up over things, and wouldn't calm back down.

At least Hershel had found some strategies that he knew worked for him. In his case, thoughts and worries would clog up his head, leaving him unable to concentrate on anything else.

But, writing out all those thoughts and worries helped. It helped keep his mind organized and tidy. And seeing everything written down on paper, such as all the tasks he had to do for the day… suddenly they didn’t seem so overwhelming and unmanageable. Now that they were out of his head, he could focus on each in turn and break them down into manageable chunks.

That gave him an idea, like a flash of insight while working on a particularly tricky puzzle.

“Here.” Hershel reached into his school bag and took out one of his notebooks. He tore out a blank page, then grabbed a spare pencil.

“It sounds like you’re pretty overwhelmed. Ma always says to look at the big picture – and that you always think you’re doing worse than you are.” He cleared his throat. “You’re saying you’re a failure at everything – and I _know_ that’s not true. And I’ll use this paper to show it to you.”

“How?” Randall still sounded angry and upset – but there was a hint of curiosity, the same that drove their shared passion for puzzles.

Hershel drew a line down the sheet of paper. “Let’s write things out so they’re more objective. On this side we’ll write the things you’re bad at – and on the other side, all the things you’re _good_ at. Then we’ll compare the two columns, and see if you’re really such a failure after all. Why don’t we start with the good-”

“No, start with the bad,” said Randall. “May as well get it over with.”

Hershel shrugged. “You do have a point.”

He wrote down 'can't focus in boring classes', 'trouble finishing things on time', and 'too loud'. Remembering Randall's outburst in class earlier that day, he added 'impulsive'.

"Now, let's write some things you're good at," he said, pencil scurrying across the page. "Fencing, archeology, puzzles, looking good in glasses-"

"Really?" Randall said, raising an eyebrow.

Hershel shrugged. "Even simple things like that can give you something to be proud of.

"Not only that, but if we take a second look at some of the things from the 'not good at' list..." He circled 'impulsive'. "It all depends on how you look at things - sometimes your weaknesses can be _strengths,_ too. Take this one, for example - you're impulsive, but that also means you're _brave_ , and ready to rush in when others would be too scared. It also means you're up for anything, too."

"I can't help it, I get so excited," Randall muttered sheepishly.

"Life certainly _is_ exciting whenever you're around - I've lost count of the number of adventures I've had since moving to Stansbury. And that's the other great thing about you..."

Hershel took a long sigh, readying himself. "See, my family moves around a lot, and Stansbury was yet another unfamiliar town I needed to adjust to... It was always hard making new friends, too. I mean, I'd get on easily with most of my classmates, but I'd never make any _real_ friends, the sort you'd hang out with after school... and even if I did, I'd just lose them when we moved again...

"But that all changed when I met you. You were my first friend here - no, my first friend _ever_. Not only that, you helped me out of my shell - without you I'd have never met Angela, or Henry, or even Dalston."

He wasn't even writing anymore. He didn't need to, not when Randall had that look on his face when he could _see_ the solution to a previously-impossible puzzle.

“No matter what your dad, or your own thoughts, tell you, you’re not a failure,” Hershel finished. “You have weaknesses _and_ strengths, and there’s plenty of things for you to be proud of. You're not broken, or a failure - you're just a human being, like all of us."

(He thought of Ma and Pa, and how they knew he was a bit different - and loved him all the more for it.)

“Be _proud_ of what makes you different, because that just might be what makes you a famous archeologist – or whatever you want to be.”

"Yeah!" Randall said. "I'll be the world's best archeologist! Archeology is _never_ boring - I'll never worry about zoning out again!"

Hershel was glad to see a smile back on Randall’s face as he walked home.


End file.
